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Authors: Tami Dane

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BOOK: Blood of Eden
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I was the world's worst detective.
All of this raised one vital question: if he'd broken up with Debbie Richardson, what was he doing at the house today?
“Did you notice if your neighbor was sick recently?” I asked. “Did she have the flu in the past couple of weeks? Did she miss work at all?”
“No. I don't think so.”
JT, who was visibly gritting his teeth, handed the woman a card. “Thank you for your help. If you think of anything else, please feel free to call me.”
We both looked back at Deborah Richardson's house.
“Damn it!” JT mumbled as he stomped toward the home once more.
We weren't going to get back in the house now. Nor were we going to get the chance to ask Trey Chapman if he was a fiancé or an ex-fiancé.
Walking alongside a visibly frustrated JT, I asked, “Do you think the neighbor's right about the breakup?”
JT paused in front of the house. “If she is, Trey Chapman should go to the top of the persons-of-interest list.” He rammed his fingers through his hair. “I'm going to make a call, let the lead detective know what we found out. We need to verify whether they were broken up or not, ASAP.” He went to his car.
“What do you think? Workplace next?” I suggested over his car's roof. “Maybe someone there will know if they broke up.”
“Good thinking.” JT jerked the door open and slumped into the seat.
 
 
After having a quick chat with Debbie Richardson's most recent employer, we were stumped. She hadn't called in sick, not once in over a year. She'd shown no signs of illness prior to her death, and she'd said nothing about any troubles with her fiancé. I spent the car ride back to the FBI Academy staring at the notes I'd scrawled in my notebook. There'd been no mention today of vampires; I decided to ask JT, “Have we given up on the notion that some kind of paranormal activity played a role in this death?”
Navigating his car onto a freeway that looked more like a parking lot than a highway, JT shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
“So, do you really believe there are paranormal creatures out there, committing crimes—assault, rape, murder?” When he didn't answer right away, I added, “I promise, I won't tell the chief if you don't believe in ghosts and goblins.” Still nothing. “Please tell me I'm not the only one who thinks the whole paranormal angle is a joke.”
“Okay.” He sighed. The car rolled to a stop behind a school bus packed full of kids. They were making funny faces at us through the back windows. He made one back at them. “You're not the only one. I have a few doubts.” He inched the car forward when the bus moved up. “I took the job because I felt it would be good experience. I knew Peyton was having a hard time getting applicants. I knew every member of the team would be valued. And so, I saw it as a shortcut to getting out from behind a desk and into the field. I requested a transfer.”
“You were right about that,” I said, chuckling. “I haven't spent any quality time in my cubicle, and I'm an intern.”
“No matter what, if we do our jobs well, we'll both benefit.” He glanced over his shoulder and eased the car into the right lane. Our exit was up ahead. “If the unit is eventually disbanded, I'll leave with a hell of a lot more in-field experience than I would have if I hadn't transferred. So will you. Assuming you apply for a full-time position after graduating.”
“Sounds like a good career move on your part.”
“Would've been nice, though, if Peyton had been able to attract at least one more senior agent. Fischer's been around a while. The rest of us are relatively new. Don't have the experience to do the job.”
“All you can do is your best.”
“Yeah. But if I'd had some experience under my belt, maybe I wouldn't have fucked up with Trey Chapman.”
“You didn't ‘fuck up.' How were you supposed to know they might have broken up?” When JT didn't respond, I asked, “What's next?”
“We dig up all we can on Chapman.”
 
 
The “Clock of Doom” read twenty hours, twenty-eight minutes, and thirty-six seconds when I strolled into the unit a little while later. I had a white paper bag full of greasy burgers and fries in one hand, a half-empty cola in the other. JT had left, saying he had a personal matter to take care of. He asked if I'd do some digging on Chapman.
Feeling slightly guilty for sitting in an office, munching fries while somebody out there, somewhere, was living the final twenty hours of her life, I headed to my desk and flipped on my Netbook as I fought to consume the messy burger without slopping ketchup and mayo on the keyboard.
I wasn't “Miss Hacker-chick,” like Brittany Hough. Nor did I have open access to all the systems she did, so I accepted the fact that I would need to ask for her help. It was painful, but necessary.
I put on my big-girl panties and prepared to talk to her.
After making sure I wasn't wearing condiments on my face, I headed into her office to ask her to do some digging for skeletons in Chapman's closet. That task done, I headed back to my desk.
A certain someone, who happened to have stolen
my
internship, came strolling into the unit just as I sat. Gabe gave me a casual wave as he sauntered by. “Hey, Skye. What's up?”
I spun my chair around to watch him go to the cubicle behind me and flop into the chair like he owned it. Adding insult to injury, he kicked his feet up on the desktop and grinned.
I knew that grin.
My gut twisted. “What are you doing here?”
He picked at his fingernails. “Kicking back and chillin' for a few.”
Nothing like stating the obvious.
I gave him a mean scowl. “Yeah, but shouldn't you be doing that down in the BAU?”
“No. Why would I do that?” He looked confused. Perplexed. Mystified. It was a convincing performance. The boy—I emphasize
boy
—was one hell of an actor. Sadly, this wasn't the first time I'd seen his thespian skills at work.
It had been my senior year in high school, when he'd pretended to like me so I'd help him with physics. I'd just turned fifteen. He was two years older. And much more experienced. He'd charmed me through hours of tutoring every afternoon and—eventually—out of my clothes.
Thanks to all my hard work, he pulled what would've been a B- up to an A, which led to him being accepted into the National Honor Society. And thanks to his hard you-know-what, and the bone-melting kisses that had preceded the loss of my virginity, I'd had nothing but trouble for years to come.
You see, no sooner had he gotten what he'd wanted from me than he was lobbing my shattered heart back at me and turning his smoldering dark eyes on his next victim, Lisa Flemming.
It was my first, my only, heartbreak. I was so devastated, I failed my AP chemistry final exam. And I blew the interview with the Naval Academy recruiter, which ultimately cost me a promising career as a naval officer.
Truth be told, that part was probably a blessing in disguise.
I scoffed. “Bravo. You just might get an Oscar for that performance.”
“I'm not acting, Sloany. Why would I be chillin' in the BAU when I'm working for the
PBAU
?”
Working for the ... ? No. Effing. Way!
A rage like none I'd ever felt before burned through my body like a surge of magma, threatening to blast off the top of my head. I had to clamp my mouth shut to cut off the stream of profanities that surged up my throat.
Gabe was working for the PBAU now, after causing me to lose the internship of my dreams?
“Why?” I managed to mumble through gritted teeth as I searched the room for a way to cause his
accidental
death. I wondered if there were security cameras in the room; and if there were, how might I pull this off?
“Come on. It's obvious they need my help. Why would I stick with doing grunt work for the BAU? It was a terrible waste of resources.”
“Resources?” I spat, rummaging through my desk drawers. Death by ... stapler? Nah. I'd never convince anyone he was stupid enough to staple himself to death accidentally.
“My brilliant mind, of course.” He cupped the back of his head and rocked the chair back.
I bit my tongue. Someday, hopefully soon, someone else would poke a hole in his overinflated ego. It wouldn't be me. But if I was lucky, I'd be there to watch him deflate.
Maybe I could knock into the chair, causing him to fall backward, striking his head on a ... on a ... ?
No, that would be too gruesome and painful. Even a job-stealing, virgin-despoiling jerk didn't deserve to have his skull cracked open like an egg.
“I requested a transfer,” he continued explaining, oblivious to my thoughts of vengeance, “and Chief Peyton was all too happy to welcome me aboard.” He winked. “I'm gonna kick some vampire ass.”
All is a riddle, and the key to a riddle ... is another riddle.
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
6
My cell phone rarely rang. And when it did, it was generally bad news. But I answered it, anyway, with a cheery “Hellooooo?!” because I'm strange that way.
“Your mother's run away!” Katie's screech just about perforated my eardrum.
After switching the phone to the other ear, the one with all vital bits intact, I reasoned, “I'm sure she didn't run away. She just went out ... to get some food ... or something.” I checked the clock on my computer's desktop. It was almost five already. Where was JT? Had he forgotten about me? Or had he decided I was useless and continued the investigation without me?
“She left a note. But it's in some kind of crazy code, and I can't read it. Someone who's gone out for bagels and coffee doesn't leave an encoded note behind.”
I couldn't help chuckling. “I thought you knew my mother by now.”
“I do.” After a beat, Katie said, “Please come home and take a look. I'm worried.”
Argh!
I glanced at the Clock of Doom, then at Gabe, who was still parked in the cubicle behind me. Shortly after dropping the bomb about having joined the team, he'd run home to get his laptop, and he was now gleefully
tap-tap-tapping
on his keyboard. As much as I wanted to believe he was playing some stupid online game, I had a feeling he was doing something else. Something that would make me look even more pathetic to the rest of the team than I already did.
“Okay. I'll be there in a few.” I shoved my Netbook into its case, looped the strap over my shoulder, and trudged to the elevators. On the way home, I reminded myself that my mom's brain worked very differently from mine and Katie's. She wasn't missing, hadn't run away, and would most likely be safe and sound in my cozy-but-electricity-free apartment by the time I got home.
She wasn't.
Katie met me at the door, waving a piece of paper like it was a ransom note. “I just know she's in trouble. Can you read it? What's it say?”
“No, I can't read it. Not when you're flinging it around like that.” After several failed attempts, I finally caught my melodramatic roommate's wrist, halting its frantic motion. “Thank you for worrying about my mother. I'm sure she's okay.” I gently plucked the paper from Katie's hand and wandered into the living room, staring at the bizarre characters on the page:
B
EWARE THE LIGHT THAT FLICKERS IN THE NIGHT
.
I recognized the script right away. Theban—aka the Witches' Alphabet.
I flopped onto the couch, set the paper on the coffee table, and pulled out my Netbook. “I thought I'd told you, when I was a kid, my mom and I used to play this game, writing everything—even the grocery list—in code. We tried to stump each other. But it's been ages since either of us has done that.”
“No, you never said anything about codes.” Standing with one foot in the kitchen and one foot in the living room, Katie chomped into a peanut butter and banana sandwich. “If you had, I wouldn't have freaked out. You know how I get with your mother.”
“Sorry.” I swear, Katie worried about Mom more than I did sometimes. It was both a good and bad thing.
“So, can you read it?” She washed down the mouthful of bread, peanut butter, and banana with a chug of diet soda.
“My mother only used Theban once before, when I was about seven or eight. I remember the script well enough to recognize it, but I can't read it. Not without a little help.” I powered up my Netbook. “Luckily, it's common enough that I should be able to find it on the Net.” I connected to my fave search engine, and within seconds, I had the key to unlock my mom's note. “‘Beware the light that flickers in the night'?” I read aloud. I sighed. My heart sank to my toes.
“What the hell does that mean?” Katie took another bite of her sandwich.
I sighed again. “It means it's definitely time to make another visit to Mom's doctor. When—
if
—she comes back.”
Katie gave my shoulder a pat. “Sorry, hon.”
“I guess you were right, after all. There is reason to worry. Damn it, I was hoping this medication was going to work.” I dropped my face into my hands, indulging in a mini pity party. This had been going on for so long. I was tired of it all. Tired of the “accidents,” which had, over the years, cost me tens of thousands of dollars. Tired of the periodic disappearances, which cost me hours, days, months of worry—not to mention time, while I tracked her down. Tired of the constant struggle to drag my mother out of the darkness, which was always there, waiting for an opportunity to steal her away.
I loved my mother, but I hated her disease. Despised it.
It was a faceless, formless monster, ruthless and cunning. How I wished it could be slain like the vampires I'd read about in that stupid book Chief Peyton had given me.
Vampires could be killed with a strategically placed wooden stake or a shower of holy water. Real-life monsters weren't so easily defeated.
Katie's arm wrapped around my shoulder. Sitting beside me, she pulled me up against her side. “You know I'll help.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” After I'd pulled myself together—didn't take too long, thank God—I glanced around the living room. “Did you notice anything else? Did she make another invention? Leave any other notes? Did she take anything with her?”
“I don't know... .”
The two of us began a search of our apartment, looking for clues to where my mother might have gone. Katie started in the kitchen; I headed for my bedroom. I discovered Mom had borrowed some changes of clothing, a pair of shoes, and a duffel bag. She'd also taken her toothbrush. Katie found she'd taken a small set of tools and a can of insect repellent.
I decided I'd check out Mom's apartment first. With luck, she'd simply gone back there. Katie rode shotgun. Neither of us said a word. We'd been through this more than enough to know what the next step would be if we didn't find her by morning.
I used the spare key to get into Mom's apartment. It was dark and quiet, the shades drawn, shutting out the gradually fading sunlight. It didn't look like she was here now, but I saw something promising on the couch. My duffel bag. I hurried to it. “She's been here. I'm guessing she's coming back.”
“OhthankGod!” Katie said, her breathless exclamation echoing my own. “I wonder why she just up and left, without saying anything?”
“That's Mom for you.” I unzipped the bag and searched through the contents. Everything was there, but one set of clothes and the shoes. “She changed out of her pajamas.”
“I wonder where she went?” Katie headed down the narrow hallway leading to the small bedroom in the back. Just as I was about to follow Katie, Mom came strolling in, a pair of green canvas grocery bags hanging from her shoulders.
“Sloan? What're you doing here?” Mom headed toward the kitchen with the bags.
Following her, I said, “Looking for you. Why'd you leave? Katie was worried.”
“I got a call this afternoon. Power's on.” Mom hit the wall switch, and the light hanging over her little dinette set illuminated. “As much as I love staying with you, I'd rather be here where I have a microwave, refrigerator, and television. You know how I hate to miss my shows.”
I was so relieved, I could've cried. In fact, I kind of did this little laugh/sob thing. Katie rushed into the room, visibly biting back a rant. Together we helped Mom put away her groceries. Once that was done, my mother pulled a bag of marijuana from her pocket and headed for the couch.
“Mom, before we head out, what did you mean by that message?”
“Which message?” she asked as she dumped a mountain of dried leaves onto a paper plate sitting on her coffee table. I hated watching her smoke illegal drugs, but many, many years ago we'd come to an agreement. As long as she smoked in the privacy of her home, I wouldn't interfere.
I said, “The one you wrote in Theban. ‘Beware the light that flickers in the night.'”
Mom shrugged. “I don't recall leaving a message, let alone one written in Theban. I haven't used Theban in years. I'm not even sure I remember it well enough to compose a message. Are you sure it was from me?”
“If it wasn't you, who would it be?”
“I don't know, Sloan. It's very curious. A riddle.” She shrugged as she sprinkled a line of crushed leaves onto a piece of cigarette paper. “You'll figure it out, I'm sure. You've always been very good at riddles.”
I exchanged a look with Katie. “Okay. I guess we'll head home. Mom, remember our agreement.”
Licking the paper to seal her freshly rolled joint, she waved her good-bye.
“Where did you find that note?” I asked Katie as we trotted out to my car.
“In the living room, on the top shelf, you know, under the window.” Katie rounded the car, asking over the top, “Are you still worried about your mom? It had to be her, right? She must've forgotten she'd written the note.”
“I'm not sure what to think. Like I said before, it's been a long time since she's used Theban. She might be telling the truth.”
Katie slipped into the passenger seat, giving me a bug-eyed look. “If she is telling the truth, then what?”
“Then I guess we'd better figure out what the message means.”
On the way home, Katie and I generated a list of lights that flicker in the night. By the time we'd walked into our apartment, we'd concluded I needed to beware of everything from fireflies to stars ... and the neon sign in front of the party store down the street, and the lamp in our living room that sputtered when it was bumped—when we had electricity—and candles, and campfires, and ... at least fifty more things.
Danger was all around me.
Being the daughter of a paranoid schizophrenic, I knew being afraid of everything was no way to live.
The first thing I did when I got home was to check the window in the living room—the one above the shelf where the note had been found. It was shut, but the lock didn't work; there was also a very suspicious rip in the screen. I wedged a big book in the frame to keep an intruder from opening it, ate a peanut butter and potato chip sandwich—I was running out of ideas for new and exciting peanut butter–based sandwich ideas fast—guzzled my lukewarm caffeine-free cola, brushed my teeth, and settled into bed. Katie slept with a tire iron and a battery-powered soldering iron. I drifted off to dreamland with nary a thought of dangerous flickering things.
 
 
It was back, the dark thing. It had sucked the life out of the air in the room, the warmth, the oxygen, leaving it a cold, empty vacuum. Pretending to be asleep, she silently prayed for it to leave her alone this time.
Why did it keep coming back?
An icy gust drifted over her face, neck shoulders. Goose bumps prickled. The stench of death burned her nose; the scent of rotting flesh growing so strong, her throat closed. Fighting the urge to gag, she rolled into a ball, wrapping her arms around her bent legs. Something sharp touched her shoulder, piercing the skin.
No. Not again. Please.
 
 
Hootie & the Blowfish's “Only Wanna Be with You” woke me at 5:00
A.M
. The snappy tune almost wiped out the lingering images in my mind, of a little girl trembling in her bed, a shadowed form standing over her. It was exactly the same as the nightmare I'd had the other night. Creepy. Unsettling. I'd thought the first nightmare had been caused by all that talk about vampires, and that book,
The Vampire Encyclopedia.
But last night, there'd been no mention of bloodsuckers of any kind.
Very strange.
Sluggish, and needing a hefty dose of caffeine, I went through my morning ritual—minus the blow-drying of the hair. Instead, I gathered it, wet, into what I hoped was a tiny knot on the back of my head and used enough pins to keep it in place in a hurricane. After fluffing on a little blush and slicking some lip gloss on my lips, I put on a bland pair of black pants, a white blouse, and black pumps and stumbled out into the early morning a good two hours before Katie would resume consciousness.
Today I wouldn't be the last one in the office.
After making a quick stop at a 7-Eleven for a coffee, I headed into work.
Gabe was already there. Worse than that, he was having a friendly chitchat with Chief Peyton. Even from a distance, I could see he was using his mojo on her ... and it seemed to be working. Since I'd started with the PBAU, I hadn't ever seen the chief smile. Not that she'd looked unhappy or mean—she'd just always exuded discipline and authority.
BOOK: Blood of Eden
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